Federal prosecutors accused Dunn, Sawyer and McFall of unlawfully using their political positions to lobby on behalf of the power company. The indictment against them said they stood to gain $2 million if the project had gone forward.

Dunn defended his partnership with Sunlaw, saying that it did not constitute a conflict of interest because he had no jurisdiction over the port.

In the end, he said the case against him was insurmountable so he pleaded guilty. Dunn said it wasn't because he was guilty, but because had he lost at trial he would still be in prison. Besides, he had spent $300,000 on legal fees before facing a jury.

"Frankly, I was tapped out," Dunn said. "The well was empty."

The FBI ensnared Dunn, he said, because a little old lady found $100 bill at Lincoln Center in Stockton. Dunn's explanation:

The lady turned over a $100 bill to a sheriff's deputy who told her to reclaim it in three months, which she tried to do. But the Sheriff's Office said that unclaimed money, unlike property, went into the county's coffers, not back to the finder.

Outraged, the lady reported the flip-flop to then-Supervisor Steve Gutierrez, who put it up for discussion on the board's agenda. Dunn attended the meeting to address the return policy.

By coincidence, Calpine Corp. officials that day were presenting their plans to build a power plant just outside of southern San Joaquin County in Alameda County.

Dunn said that for 77 seconds - he still has the recording - he explained that Calpine never contacted the Sheriff's Office, and that the plant would require an evacuation plan because ammonia would be transported through San Joaquin County.

Supervisors voted to oppose the Calpine plant, based in part on Dunn's brief testimony. County Administrator Manuel Lopez sent a letter to the California Energy Commission, stating the board's opposition.

"He mails it. That became the mail fraud to which I pleaded guilty," Dunn said.

"The FBI's take is that I spoke out against a competitor on a different project."

Asked to verify Dunn's version, Gutierrez said it is plausible, but his memory is fuzzy. Marenco could not be reached.

Lopez said his memory has faded of meetings and agendas from a decade ago. Yet, he doubts a policy change over returning money was on the agenda. Lopez said he would remember that.

While Dunn spoke in detail about some aspects of his case, he declined to hash out other parts. He did not talk about earlier allegations that he abused a law enforcement data base or lobbied a port commissioner.

Sawyer, who participated in the interview and pleaded guilty to the same deal, said he and Dunn did not wish to refute every detail of the government's case.

"There's been so much spin from the beginning," Sawyer said. "Ultimately, it's been evaluated by the courts. They've found us innocent."

Dunn blamed political forces for leading to his demise.

He wouldn't name those who plotted against him, only hinting that local forces had strong connections in Washington, D.C.

When the federal government's initial civil rights case ended, a public corruption probe emerged. Since the start, Dunn has claimed that the case was a fishing expedition. He said the investigation came in the middle of Bedford's re-election bid. Dunn said he and Sawyer were deeply involved in the campaign.

"Do I think there were politics involved?" Dunn said. "Absolutely."

Dunn's first encounter with prison life came early. Dunn said he was confronted by an inmate of the Aryan Brotherhood on his first day at Taft Correctional Institution near Bakersfield.

The inmate stood at the top of the stairs. He was heavily tattooed with a clean shaven head. The other inmates knew of Dunn by reputation as the former lawman from San Joaquin County.

"Looks like we've got a new sheriff in town," the inmate bellowed as Dunn approached, drawing looks from others standing around smoking.

Dunn said he realized there was no avoiding a confrontation. He approached his fellow inmate and asked if there was a problem.

"Are we going to talk about it, or what?" Dunn said. He deflated the tension by asking the man from Sacramento about people they knew in common, Dunn said. "We got to talking."

Initially, jailers said they wanted to keep him in solitary confinement to protect him. He told them he wouldn't have it, and asked to be housed in the general population.

The inmates were suspicious of his short sentence, he said, and led them to believe he was a snitch. He initially felt alone because no one would sit near him during meals. It took about three weeks for Dunn to fit in, but Dunn said he felt no danger.

On his way out, Dunn said the Aryan inmate told him he was sorry to see him go. He told Dunn that his folks owned a bar in El Dorado. "If you ever get up that way, please stop in and say hi," the inmate told him.

No, said Dunn, he has no ambition to reclaim his position as sheriff.

"I'm tired of being a punching bag," he said.

Today, he manages investment property and draws an annual pension of $168,000. He is married and enjoys traveling.

He may try to win back the $40,000 fine the judge ordered him to pay at sentencing. Dunn said he's also considering work as a private investigator.

He would like to find a way to use his insights into the criminal-justice system to help ex-prisoners make a successful return to society.

The money spent on incarceration isn't paying off, he said. In prison, he witnessed inmates as their family ties broke down. The 10 minutes they're allowed on the phone each day isn't enough to sustain relationships.

Mostly, he holds a deeper appreciation for the friends who stuck with him.

As for those who can't accept that his felony conviction was wiped clean, Dunn said he doesn't waste time worrying about them. "The exoneration is exactly what it means," he said. "I didn't do anything wrong."